In This Time
by Renebre
Summary: A somber, bittersweet piece. Draco watches Ginny


Prequel

AN : Here it is, another angsty little piece of fluffiness from me. 

Summary : Draco watches Ginny and broods.

Rating : PG-13

In This Time 

** **

I watch as she moves. She is beautiful to me. Perhaps to someone else her hair is too bright for comfort, her mouth too wide, her chin slightly pointed. Perhaps to someone else, her walk is too slow, her eyes too vague.

But not to me.

There is no one else to look at, for me

She sits by herself. She does it often. When she does I wonder what she thinks of sitting all alone, looking at whatever happens to be in front of her. 

She does not choose the same place to sit all the time. No, she always sits in a different place. Variety, I think. It is too bad that the same cannot be said for her choice in men. 

Too bad for me.

She has loved him, Potter, for many years, almost as long as I have loved her. It seems I have loved her for a lifetime, and I often wonder whether a person can love like this forever. Surely, I think, a love that hurts as much as this, a love that is so strong you can never forget it, not ever, cannot last forever. One day it will burn itself out, and when it does, I shall not need to see her all the time, and I won't think of her all the time, and I will not sleep only to dream of her.

For that is what I do.

Is this what it means, living for someone; truly living for someone? That is what I do, I think. I open my eyes in the morning only because I hope to get a glimpse of her; I walk only so I will meet her; I breathe only because I will not die before her. My brain functions only to think of her; my heart only exists because it belongs to her. I make nasty remarks to assuage my pain, to soothe myself so I won't put my hands around her neck and strangle her, squeeze the life out of her so I can absorb it and make her mine in death.

Mine as she will not be in life.

I watch now as she sits outside on the grass, looking at the lake but not seeing it. Her face is still, sweetly somber. Yes. For all her shortcomings, she has a sweet face, a mild face. A face, perhaps, that people are inclined to forget. 

As I wish I could forget.

I wonder what she is thinking about, to have such a sad statement on her face. I think that she is probably thinking about Potter, about how she can never have him and maybe wishing that she didn't want him so desperately.

Her thoughts could be my own.

I wish many things as I watch her now. I long to go down and touch her on the shoulder. I wish that if I did, she would look up at me and smile and the sadness would leave her face and inhabit another's. Maybe Potter's. He deserves unhappiness. Just as she deserves happiness.

She longs for Potter. I long for her. Potter longs for someone else, maybe Cho Chang. It is an old story, a common one, and there is never a happy ending. I know now that there won't be a happy ending. Not for me, not for her. Potter, I am sure, will have a happy ending. He always does. It is not fair, really not fair. But then, it is never fair.

We are so alike, she and I. Her loneliness calls out to mine, and we both hurt so badly inside. But she cannot cure my pain, just as I cannot cure hers. We were not meant for each other, not in this time. In another time, a time where Potter does not exist and the earth is kind. In this time it is uncaring, indifferent.

She was born into a family of six brothers; I was born alone. Despite that, we are the same. We are both solitary, deep inside. We both suffer, now.

I want to go to her now, to offer some comfort, to ask her to come close to me and let me understand - to give her my hand, to soothe the wounds we have.

But she is not meant for me and I am not meant for her. And so all I can do is watch, watch as she sits by herself and I stand by myself and we both ache.

Around her the world is ablaze as the sky lights a thousand candle to guide her on her journey back toward the earth, The air is filled with stillness, the trees whisper gently, the grass is damp and yielding.

A man could find faith in such a moment . . .

Or he could lose faith in a world shrouded by empty beauty, a world which can give him love and keep it away from him, a world which smiles gently but shakes its head, a world which really, in the end, doesn't give a damn . . .   
  


_______   
  


_Close your eyes,_

_Give me your hand, darling,_

_Do you feel my heart beating,_

_Do you understand_

_Do you feel the same_

_Or is this burning_

_An eternal flame   
  
_

_I believe,_

_We're meant to be, darling,_

_I watch you when you are sleeping,_

_You belong to me,_

_Do you feel the same,_

_Am I only dreaming,_

_Or is this burning,_

_An eternal flame.   
  
_

_Say my name,_

_Sun shines through the rain_

_The whole life, so lonely,_

_And then you come and ease the pain_

_I don't want to lose this feeling,_

_Oh . ._

_Eternal flame,_

_The Bangles_


End file.
